The billet-doux
by annagallis
Summary: Percy Blakeney writes to his wife. Not a long letter, but one which requires immediate attention. Unfortunately I don't seem to be able to write anything but fluff - you have been warned!


Author's note: by naming a character merely as "Footman" I mean no disrespect. I did not wish to introduce another name into this short story but to try to recreate the custom of the times because unfortunately servants, especially liveried ones, were not considered by many employers to 'need' personal names.

 _ **The billet-doux**_

"Lady Blakeney? Excuse me, Lady Blakeney – a message for you, milady."

She turned, to see a footman holding out a tray towards her, and on it a note addressed to her in her husband's hand. Her heart turned over – dear God, please let it not be bad news, or that he was called away and must leave her again already — not yet, not when he had only just returned!

She glanced up at the footman but could read no clue in his impassive face. She took the note, her hands trembling despite her best efforts, and, as he stepped back, she broke the wafer and unfolded the light paper.

Hastily written – almost scrawled – in her mother tongue, and unsigned, it was brief and direct:

"I cannot wait to take you home, and to bed;" – she blushed, and almost laughed with relief: not bad news then – "I am growing impatient of this evening's heat and noise. Will you plead a headache, and send for me?"

Sure that he would be watching from somewhere to see her reaction, she scanned the room but could not see him. She raised her eyes to the gallery above: ah, there! Leaning forward on the railing, and looking down, straight at her.

Mindful that she would soon need to appear unwell, she restrained the smile which would otherwise have lit up her face as their eyes met. Instead she returned his look, as steadily as she was able, while the seconds passed and the world around the two of them fell away. To a casual observer he would have appeared to be lounging, idly surveying the dancers below; but to her loving eyes every line of his body was taut, expectant; and she wondered she did not melt in the intensity of his gaze.

After a few moments more, she very slowly and deliberately refolded the billet-doux and tucked it inside her bodice, between her breasts. She made no other sign but she knew he would understand her meaning, and, sure enough, after she had torn her eyes away from his for a moment to beckon the footman back, when she looked at the gallery again he was gone.

The footman was all attention.

"Would you send for our coach, please, and find Sir Percy? I wish to go home" she said.

Well-schooled in inscrutability, he betrayed none of his surprise: the Blakeneys were well-known as late birds and yet here was supper barely underway, and they were leaving already? It must be to do with that note, he thought.

"Of course, milady. At once, milady. I hope milady will not think me impertinent but I trust milady is not indisposed?"

"What did you say? Oh – no, no – well, yes, a little... Will you find my husband, please."

 _She's_ not unwell, he thought – though maybe a little flushed, excited, like; it  must be to do with that note from Sir Percy, though; perhaps _he_ was unwell? But that didn't seem likely either, such a great strapping fellow as he was. Idle, though – no danger of _him_ not making old bones through putting himself out for other people... All he could say was, if he himself'd had a wife like that sitting waiting at home for him, well, he'd never keep going away like Sir Percy was said to do, all that travelling up north, fishing or some such nonsense...

These thoughts turned in his mind as he threaded through the crowd – which took some time, it was so densely packed around and outside the ballroom – and when he reached the hall he was taken aback to find Sir Percy already there, and clearly waiting to be gone: booted, wearing that great caped coat he was known by, and gently beating his gloves together in the palm of one hand. So it must have been _him_ as had decided to be off, that was clear as day, otherwise how could he have known already?

Concealing his surprise again, he said, "Ah, Sir Percy, I've come from Lady Blakeney, she wishes to go home, sir: I'll send for the coach, sir".

"Sent for," was the short reply – he must be in a hurry, then: maybe it was some crisis – but he didn't seem to be agitated, more excited; like _she_ was, in fact. What _was_ it all about? His curiosity was growing by the minute.

Sir Percy spoke again, in that short way he had: "Lady Blakeney on her way?"

"I left milady about to make her apologies, sir, to His Royal Highness."

"Ah, yes. Of course."

He'd have wagered the same thought was going through Sir Percy's mind as through his own: that it might take some time for Lady Blakeney to escape: it didn't do to upset Prinny, who could be peevish and difficult if he chose – though the Blakeneys were both favourites, and at bottom the Prince had a good heart, like his mother, and wouldn't delay Lady Blakeney if he thought she was really unwell... Sure enough, the lady herself now appeared, on the arm of Lady Courtauld on one side and Lady Cavendish on the other, these escorts rather excitedly explaining they had particularly been chosen by the Prince of Wales to ensure Lady Blakeney's safe consignment to her husband's care.

The niceties having been exchanged between the four, of concern and good wishes on the one hand, and thanks and farewells on the other, Footman was interested to see that despite their early departure, and the professed reason for it, Sir Percy made no reference to his wife's apparent indisposition – in fact, barely any words passed between them: perhaps they had had some disagreement, and he, or she, was still displeased with the other? But it appeared not: there was some atmosphere between them which he could not identify but which was not unpleasant, and Sir Percy took the usual trouble, but not more than usual, to see that Lady Blakeney was well wrapped up in a thick travelling cloak before he gave her his arm and took her out to the coach, which was now waiting outside.

Footman thought it was odd, if she _was_ unwell, that Sir Percy made ready to hand her up to the box; although it was known she preferred to ride there when he drove, she would be out in the night air there and at risk of chills, when surely she would have been safer inside – but by now Footman was convinced it was some excuse; they just wanted to leave the ball for some reason and whatever it was, it must be important: they were both known to enjoy parties and they were almost notorious amongst his fellow-servants for being always amongst the last to leave any gathering... It was all very peculiar ... Maybe Tom, a footman like himself but, he had to admit, higher up the pecking order, with more to do with the nobs, maybe Tom might know something he didn't, and even if not, he would be only too willing to share his appreciation of Lady Blakeney's bosom (just the right size, thought Footman, anything more than a handful was a waste) and the pretty little ankles she sometimes showed, as now when she stepped up to the box ... Keeping his face as inscrutable as ever, he stood in attendance whilst Sir Percy took the reins and mounted the box; a few moments more and they moved off.

Footman turned to re-enter the house and as he did so he glanced again at the retreating coach. What he could have sworn he saw then in the glow from the braziers suddenly shone a light on the mystery.

Sir Percy turned to his wife and gave her a broad wink.

"Were you sorry to leave, my dear?" he asked as they travelled down the drive towards the road.

"No, Percy, not at all – it seems to me you are only just returned, and we have spent so little time together! You know the moments are precious to me ... " she said seriously; then her tone changed: "and there was such urgency in your note, too: how could a lady possibly refuse such entreaty?" she giggled.

In the light from the house, fading now behind them, she could see his slow smile before he turned to look at her and said, mock serious: "It is no joking matter, Lady Blakeney, but one of the utmost importance!"

Few more words were exchanged – neither wished to talk — on the ride home to Richmond but she sat close to him, revelling in the strength – and tension, too, tonight – in his arm at her side, and his thigh pressed against hers. It was as if there was some current running between them and she knew that what lay ahead would be one of those times when it seemed as if he could not be close enough to her to satisfy the need in him. She had thought he would drive home like the wind but there was no moon and the coach lamps cast such small light ahead that he was holding the horses back; all the same she was glad they all knew the road well. Eventually, after what seemed to them both a longer journey than usual, they reached the gates of their own park and she felt him relax a little against her side.

Frank was on watch for them, as always, and there was no need for talk, so it was not long before the household had been sent to bed and she was alone by the fire in her salon, waiting to hear her husband's footfall along the landing. Sure enough, there was his light tap at the door, but as ever, he did not enter without bidding and when she opened the door to him she could see, straight away, the seriousness in his face and the intensity in his deep blue eyes. She put her hands in his and drew him in. It was not the time for reserve or hesitation; he closed the door, turned the key, and swept her up and into her bedchamber, where they made passionate love in the firelight.

Some hours later, when the fire had grown cold and dawn was beginning to creep into the room, she woke – unusually, before him – and she rose, put on her wrap, and began quietly to gather up the clothes they had discarded in their urgency the night before. Amongst her linen she found the billet-doux; she unfolded it and read it again, smiling to herself; she would put it away carefully, she thought, amongst the little treasures and reminders of him which she kept privately and which from time to time she would tenderly revisit; perhaps, years from now, when they were, please God, growing old together, she would unwrap it and show him, and remind him of why he had written it.

 _The End._


End file.
